When the smoke cleared
by SimplyUnmistakable
Summary: I wanted to write memories with him, to discover hidden feelings, other ones, long forgotten. But, no matter what I'd do ...the feelings were rusted and photos remain empty without the TWO of us. Despite the thoughts of catching the happiest moments of us in this book, I've decided to start this book with farewells : Farewell, my sweet love.
1. Prologue

** Prologue  
**

**Inspired by the song "White horse" - Taylor Swift.**

I was afraid it came too far and I was binding myself by any excuse to give back. But .. the game began again. I felt like I could have mastered me no more.

He opened his lips. The clenching was neither resistance anymore, nor surrender, just a coincidence of my longing.

.. it's hard to describe the emotion. A calm and still violent happiness, in front of which the soul cannot give battle. I was weak and he knew. He knew I couldn't resist.

I loved his passionate kiss, full of life, especially when it was the last. A perfect kiss, unruly, shrouded in mystery and shaped by your own lips, such as never before. His look was troubled and hungry with passion. It gave me shiver. I shuddered. It was that look that asked me to stay, to wait, but I needed to go. Anywhere hecould not follow me.

Then he spoke .. emphatically (affected), theatrically , forcing a vicious mask, to catch my attention.

"All I want is you!... "

I wished I could believe in his words as I had before. But it was too late for him to ask me to be as yesterday when he was the one that has changed. I didn't understand anything of what was happening. I didn't know what was in his head, what he wanted. I didn't understand why he acted that way when he were the one who left. I didn't understand why he wanted me back now and not once, when I actually was his. Maybe this is how he has always been - like the wind.

But I couldn't be that bad habit of his anymore. I didn't want to hear such garbage. I was tired of these tales with princes and princesses. I didn't need someone to disappoint me, as much as he had already did.

Things have changed and now he comes back to me. I realized he didn't even have any idea of what he wanted. I really didn't know how could he suddenly realize that he loves me and expect for me to start listening to promises that he would never keep.

The naivete said its word and now I realize the child I was around him. I woke up every single morning with a silly happiness, perhaps because I knew I was going to spend another day with him. It seemed that dreams become certainty, but it lasted too little and everything became like a nightmare. Then I felt a sharp pain as after a surgery, a surgery that has left a void in me. I thought I had no soul anymore.

I haven't cried, no. Why cry when there are enough people like him to hurt me, to disappoint me.

"Do you love me?"

"Yeah..."

"Can you give me another chance?"

I took one better look at my beloved man. I was missing him so much. But he – he wasn't him anymore.

...he remained the same, with the same innocent eyes he would melt everyone with and warm smile...In my memory... I never forgot how, in a moment, I could leave myself behind. A look or gesture betrayed me and made me loved, wanted, even understood.

It seemed all to become so clear when I held his hand for the first time. I knew there was something to come , but not such a strike. I never expected him to forget, to forget me. Not so early.

"I..."

If I could believe again the words that once tickled me, made me shiver with every syllable uttered. If I could believe in the sky in his eyes again, his red lips, in his shaded skin, warmed by the sun. If I could go there where I could feel his pulse, then warm up with his body's heat . If I could make him stop playing, be his lucky card, putting the chess pawn mat in front of all his decisions. If I could be where I never was, forget his pride and my rain, to see his sun beyond the ashy clouds in his blue eyes.  
If I could...

"No..."

I missed him and, somehow, I knew I'd always do. I missed the joy in my soul which I had when I heard him, saw him, or just when I thought about him. And yet, I didn't miss missing him.

I was sick of that never ending unrolling : I watch as he goes, puzzled, I remain. Then I fall because he pushes me. Then he lies to me and I try to forget. And everything is a game. He sticks to his life rules, I stick to my regrets.

"Leaves fall and make up my way. You spread them again and i still hope to collect them. I'll leave now, leave everything behind, as you did, without realizing it. Don't expect nothing from me, don't you follow me, don't try to contact me. No more leaves, no more sun, no more me, no more you... there's no more us."

The words got out my troath with more easiness than I expected. My lips have barely curved in a dull smile.

"So isn't there any hope for US?" he talked, with that sweet innocent voice which once caught me in its soft melody.

"I don't know...," my too sincere answer made its way to my lips.

"Where will you go?" he asked, bowing his head, hiding his eyes in the shadow of his head.

"In the same places I've always been," I said with no hesitation.

"What kind of address is that?"

"The only one I know."

Then, I left. After all, he left first. Now, he's here again, but it's too late. And the evident question arises: For what?

What is before and what is after? What is too late and that too early?

I didn't ask for something, I didn't want anything, didn't believe in anything. I would never know him anymore, not even as a stranger who just looked at me before walking away. Nothing. Just nothing...

I wanted to write memories with him, to discover hidden feelings, other ones, long forgotten.

But, no matter what I'd do_ ...the feelings were rusted and photos remain empty without the TWO of us._

Despite the thoughts of catching the happiest moments of us in this book, I've decided to start this book with farewells : _Farewell, my sweet love. _


	2. Three years in Azkaban

** Three years in Azkaban**

Some may tell you 'Use your time well'. He, for sure, used his very well. That's what he told me once : _I used my time very well_.

Three years may not seem too much. Three years in Azkaban, though, means a lot. Unfortunately, he had plenty of time to realize that, but, fortunately, he had enough to realize way much more.

In that prison, money doesn't matter - you can't pay your liberty with nothing but your liberty. Blood doesn't matter - if blood falls, they won't make any difference. Each drop is as mud from each of them as it comes from a criminal. And the name...Ha! The name won't matter for you either, just after the first hours spent there. And for them, for them you are just 'prisoner number x'. Number 33.128, more specifically. Prisoner number 33.128, Draco Malfoy, Death Eater.

''Prisoner code three, three, one, two, eight - Malfoy, Draco?'' the called voice echoed from one of the empty dark halls of the prison. I shivered.

A blond haired young man raised his head. The guardian took a better look at him, as if he was trying to make. Certainly, it was. But the prisoner knew that, certainly, it wasn't anymore.

Draco Malfoy the boy was now a man. He was skinny, his hair was long and messy, a rough and tumble beard emphasizing the disregard he treated his appearance with in the previous years. But, despite that, his face wasn't aged at all, even though his mind was probably twenty years elder.

Right next that skinny body was lying a very old piece of a newspaper. The header was big and still clear : 'He-who-must-not-be-named not going to be named around any more' . That newspaper was everything he wanted to take with him when they told him he was under arrest. I did asked once why did he keep it. He told that The article was a relate about how 'brave and great Potter' appeared from nowhere, 'back from the deaths', and fought Voldemort, succeeding to kill him and save the entire Wizarding World.

At first, the article had made him sick. He had watched with distaste how the great freaking Potter was (again) the bloody hero of everyone, the most courageous man on Earth. After some time, the article had continued to disgust him, but not for Potter's ascension, but for his decadence.

In time, he understood how idiot, how childish he was once - _Yes, I'd been childish. He couldn't see the reality, the true behind ' The Cause'. I was completely wrong, _he told me.

'' Prisoner 33.128, you have a visit!'' the prison guardian cried one more time.

'' A visit?'' Draco asked rhetorically. '' This must be interesting...,'' he said ironically.

There have been two years since he last had a visit: his mother. She came in visit just a few days after she was freed herself - Narcissa Malfoy had just one year in prison for her actions as a Death Eater. There's been just a year because of the kindness of a ' very important public figure of the Wizarding World' ( that's all she could find out about the person who helped her when asking). According to that person, Narcissa had a significant part in the fight against the Dark Lord.

Unfortunately, Lucius Malfoy hadn't the same luck. 'That important public figure' agreed with the Minister, that Lucius deserved all the years he received, for his cruelty and murders. He was imprisoned for life. Draco agreed with them. _My father deserved all that and more for drowning his family through all that shit just because he was a coward_, he confessed in a moment of weakness.

Narcissa's health was completely messed up in that year she'd been in prison. She never wanted to see her husband anymore, but, even though she wasn't strong enough yet, she wasted no time before going to see her dear son. The result of seeing him behind those iron bars was disastrous for her already not stabil health so, as much as it hurt, Draco had to stop the visits before he'd finally be free. The major problem was he had no idea when he'd finally be free. His case was still discussed. Draco has been told that ' the important public figure' was participating in this, too.

'' Miss, you can come closer,'' I, the visitor, have been called.

Draco took a better look. The woman has been there, behind the guardian, for all that time. He probably didn't noticed her because of the dark or, maybe, just because his thoughts have been somewhere faraway all along.

''Good afternoon, Malfoy!'' I said as approaching the cellar. The guardian took a little distance to let us talk.

'' Afternoon? So it's afternoon. It's been a while since I could actually figure out which part of the day it was,'' I heard his dull, thoughtful voice, before starting to check me out.

I guessed it wouldn't take him too much to recognise me, only if he didn't lose his sanity yet. I didn't change much since we had last seen each other. I was quite tall, thin. My once voluminous bushy hair, was now simply short. I never regretted cutting my hair. Me and many others found it then, at that length, looking very elegant. My usual brown eyes and a light make-up – all those were all I could say about that twenty-one year old Hermione Granger.

''Granger?'' he exclaimed surprised. ''My manners you'd pull me to something like 'Such a pleasure to receive your visit', but, coming to you, I'll say just 'What the hell are you doing here?','' he said calmly.

"Don't worry for me. I hadn't too much of those manners of yours you talk about, anyway," I talked with calm, taking the papers I needed out of my black purse.

" I'll let these talk for me," I handed him the papers, avoiding any possible eye contact.

"This is some kind of a joke?" he cried after taking a look at them.

"We thought you'd be rather happy to be free," I replied indifferently, raising my shoulders.

"You know what I'm talking about. Important public figure? Let's be serious. We both know very well who that is," he whispered, way much calm, probably avoiding the guardian's ears. " So what's with his sudden interest for my family's good?" he babbled, leaning towards me, by the cell's bars.

"Let's call it _compromise_. A pact of... " I whispered under my breath, getting closer, too. "peace," was the most appropriate word I could find.

Then he laughed, a laugh that Ițll always remember – the lack of humor, the insanity in his tone.

"So you mean us being friends?" he mumbled throught the hissing that was just a shadow of what he used to call a superior laugh years ago.

" I'd prefer maybe acquaintances, but I guess you got the general idea of this," I replied, keeping the same coolness in my voice, while he kept his own in his glassy eyes.

"I guess I don't have any other chance anyways," he spoke up as single approvement and ultimatum of the conversation we had, before turning his face away, back to his deep thoughts. I had to call the guardian again to help me get him back to his sences, so we could continue the arrangements for his absolution.

Once, I asked him what happened that day, why that strange acting? He answered it was just as a habit he got. Anybody who came there, till that day, talked and left. The only way of surviving was closing yourself inside your soul and try to not think about anything, while thinking of everything. So, after any person was finishing with what he or she had to say, he had to come back to his drowsiness, so he could survive. These are the words he used : _So I could survive_.

I made my job. I finished the papers, procured signatures, completed questionnaires and watched Mr. Draco Malfoy walking out the Askaban's gate, all before 6 PM.

That was meant to be the last time to see him, but things took a quite different turn.


End file.
